Into the Dark to Find the Light
by LoveDrift
Summary: After Drifts banishment he is captured by Turmoil. Wing is alive and along with Dai Atlas and Axe he joins up with Roddy and crew after the events on Luna 1. Wing and Percy leave to find their beloved Drift. Torture, drug use, non-con, violence, somewhat sticky 'facing, fluff, love and tons of h/c. Published first on AO3 under my pen name LoveDrift. Contains spoilers for MTMTE #16


PRESENT  
THE LOST LIGHT  
TWO MONTHS AFTER THE BATTLE ON LUNA 1

"I don't care what you say! Captain or not we must save him! You don't know him like I do," screams the beautiful white jet, his intakes heaving; golden optics glowing fierce as he argues with our beloved Captain. However much Perceptor thought that Drift and Wing loved each other was nothing compared with actually seeing it firsthand. "Perceptor, please…PLEASE tell him we must go after Drift," pleads Wing.

Oh how Perceptor hates that look. Don't look at me like that, Wing, Perceptor thinks. What he hates even more though, is just thinking of Drift in trouble. His spark breaks. "Rodimus, I agree with Wing. Please. He saved my life. No matter what happened here, he does not deserve the fate you have abandoned him too. I do not believe he was acting alone-"

"Neither do I, "interrupts Ratchet. "That kid has been through hell and back and what you did to him was WRONG. He never should have been cast out…stripped of his Autobrand. You acted without thinking. You have no idea what you have done. His sanity, his TRUST is such a fragile thing and you shattered it. You threw him away! He's been discarded enough!"

"I did what I had to do! He deserved exile! What's wrong with all of you!? Because of him people died! THEY DIED," retorts Rodimus, his own intakes heaving and fans whirring hard.

"And do you honestly think for one minute that Drift is NOT beating himself up because of it! Where was your inquiry, hm? Where? You just accepted what he said because of where he came from? Who he was," Wing growls, his jet engines rumbling with anger. "You don't know him! I will go to him whether you allow me to or not!"

Thank Primus for Wing for saying what Perceptor can't, the sniper thinks. "He is most assuredly right, Rodimus. Drift is a GOOD mech. He has a good spark. I spent many long hours with Drift, over the course of many years," Perceptor looks at Wing, hoping it's not to accusatory, "he…he blamed himself for your, 'death', Wing. He took it so very, very hard, and I know that he will take this personally-to spark," The poor scientist turned sniper can only look at his hands as he speaks, far too afraid to look at anyone for fear they will see how glaringly obvious his feelings are for Drift, his savior. "It is my recommendation that we, that is Wing and I…" yes, that's right, do not look so surprised, Wing, I would never let you go and rescue Drift without me, he says in his processor, "...leave at once. No one else need come." Perceptor watches as Rodimus stands tall, armor flaring, arms folded across his chest, his electromagnetic field (EMF) pulled in tight with a very stubborn look of denial blazoned on his face. One would never guess he and Drift had ever been friends. This behavior from Ratchet, however, is most unexpected. One would think…no…not Ratchet…

"Rodimus! It's Turmoil! TURMOIL! Was the fragging spilt energon all over Drifts slagging shuttle any clue of how incredibly desperate his situation is?! Don't you realize what he's doing to him! Perceptor, you go, keep him alive till I can repair him. I didn't save his slagging, pit-spawned, frustrating, and stubborn aft twice already to let him die because of your hurt feelings, Captain! I am overruling you as CMO, Rodimus! And don't you dare look at me like that…you know I can!" And with that Ratchet storms off.

Primus bless him too. The sniper looks over at Wing and nods, turning on his heel and heading to Drift's hab suite. Perceptor hears Rodimus cry out into the empty bridge as he and Wing walk away. "Wish you were here, Magnus…" So do I Rodimus, so do I. Then this would not be happening, Perceptor reflects.

"You know, Wing, it would have been _nice_ had you or Dai Atlas had told Drift that you were alive…"

"Yes, I-I wish that I could have, Perceptor. It wounds my spark to know that he suffered for so long and still continues to suffer. My poor Drift. Thank you for being his friend. Thank you for standing by him and coming along," Wing looks around noticing the change of direction.

So he picked up on our change of direction, more perceptive than I gave you credit for, muses the sniper. Wow. Your Drift? Being his friend? The sniper quickly chokes down his anger. Drift belongs to no one, but Perceptor knows as soon as Drift see's Wing, his chance to be with him will be annihilated into a million fragments of the microscope shattered spark. Oh Drift…I never should have let you walk away alone...I should have…Perceptor can barely finish his thought, so distraught he is.

"Should we not be heading for a shuttle though?" Wing asks, nudging Perceptor from his distressing thoughts.

"We will head to a shuttle once I have collected his swords…" as he speaks Perceptor is commed by Ratchet.

:: Perceptor, First Aid and I have loaded your shuttle with supplies. Bring him home in one piece. Tell him…never mind. I'll tell him myself::

::I will Ratchet. Thank you::

"His swords? He left without them? Oh…oh …Drift…" Wing even looks resplendently perfect when he's worried.

I do not stand a chance, stop Perceptor; this is about Drift, not you Perceptor muses, once again lost in his own world, "Hm? What? Yes, the shuttle is ready, Ratchet just informed me." He cants his helm as they come to a stop in front of Drifts hab suite.

"Uh, no…well that's good, but I was asking about his swords…Perceptor, he will be alright." Wing says, doing his very best to be comforting.

"Ah...yes, he left his swords…all three of them. I don't know why. I couldn't …I couldn't get to him in time. He is alone and weaponless," The spark breaking look on Wings face is hard to miss as Perceptor grabs Drifts swords. "Come on. We have wasted far too much time as it is already." With that Wing nods and they race to the shuttle bay.

TWO MONTHS PRIOR  
SIX DAYS AFTER DRIFTS BANISHMENT  
TURMOILS SHIP

"Deadlock? You are certain?"

"Yes, Turmoil. That is his energy signature without a doubt,"

"Bring him to me and jettison his shuttle. NOW! Heheheheh…oh Deadlock, how I have waited for this very moment…"

PRESENT  
TURMOILS SHIP: BRIG

"AAAAARGHHHH! F-FRAG…..Y-YOU," Drift hisses; the pain from yet another crushing blow to his stomach causing him to purge his fuel starved tanks. Months of the same endless torture, with no end in sight. The room fizzes into a sickly, bright white haze as he is kicked across the cell, slamming heavily into the wall. Another well placed kick, another pinched and severed line. And no one to save him. No Gasket. No Wing. Wing…oh Wing…"URGH!" Turmoil lifts Drift up and pins him to wall of the cell by his throat.

"Oh my dear Deadlock, does this hurt?" Turmoil squeezes the much smaller red and white mechs throat. Drifts vision fritzes to white again as he kicks with his legs and claws with his hands. "What's that? Nothing to say?" Oh I have plenty to say, fragger, Drift thinks as Turmoil's ferocious grip loosens ever so slightly to allow Drift to speak.

"It's…D-Drift…" Drift croaks in a burst of static. The look on Turmoil's face at that sends s shudder right up his spinal struts.

"Of course it is. Just like you still have that disgusting red insignia on your chest plate…oh but wait…" Turmoil retracts his battle mask and a predatory grin curls on his lips. "…you no longer wear the sigil of your current faction. Thrown away again, I see…tell me…DEADLOCK…does it bother you to know that not a single soul in this entire world wants you?" To emphasize his point, the very large and black mech slowly drives a barbed length of metal pole into Drifts already damaged stomach. He then pulls two more from his sub space ramming one into Drifts sparking right hip which he hikes up and the other into his left knee which he hikes up; all the while Turmoil's hand never leaving Drifts neck. Drift screams in excruciating, white-hot agony, struggling like some wild creature, which unfortunately arouses Turmoil like nothing else. Energon leaks out running down the swordsmechs frame and pooling onto the floor. His intakes rattle with the effort of sucking in air to cool his overheating frame. "Well? What is your answer, Deadlock?" Drifts engines whine pitifully in distress as sobs are ripped from his vocalizer. "Perhaps we need more incentive for you to talk, hm?"

Thinking has become phenomenally difficult at this point, but Drift manages to croak out, "I'm…h-here…c-cos…y-you…w-wanted muh…me…" with a nasty smirk. He watches, groping the bar through his stomach for purchase, trying, in vain, to keep himself upright as Turmoil's smile widens. And then the glitch laughs. "F-Frag you…"

"Gutter mech to the end, hm? Ha ha ha ha ha! Oh Deadlock! You know…I have something I wish to show you. I had it made with you in mind," with that Turmoil yanks the white mech violently from the wall and deposits him on the ground. He then silently activates something. The quiet hisses of hydraulics activating fill the stillness of the room, as twelve bars, each about the size of Drifts fist in width and about half his height, slowly slide up from the floor and lock into place. The smile on Turmoil's face gets bigger.

Drift lays on the floor, intakes heaving, energon slowly pumping from his wounds and laughs. "You're even stupider than I thought," He coughs up energon that is beginning to pool in his intakes and spits it at Turmoil. "Poles? That's all ya got? Get slagged..."

"It's you who is stupid, dear Deadlock. Running around weaponless? Tisk tisk…Ending up here?…Tisk tisk," Turmoil sneers and grabs Drift by his helm, licking the energon from his face where the swordsmechs had landed his spit. "Delicious, Deadlock, but time enough for that later." Turmoil hauls Drift over to the blunt edged bars protruding from the floor as Drift, now finally figuring out what he plans on doing, struggles pathetically. "Do you know what's special about your restraints," he asks as he places Drift atop each bar, lining him up so that each bar is pressed to a joint. "I can run current through them or heat them up. Which shall we start with?" Wasting no time to be denied his prize, Turmoil slams Drift down on to the bars. Each bar impaling him through his wrists, elbows, shoulders, hips, knees and ankles, his lower half spread wide apart.

Drifts agonized scream is unlike anything either mech has ever heard, as he is viciously, violently impaled. His vision cuts out as everything turns to a white static. His vents cycle hard and his fans short out. Several racking sobs of pure, unbridled mind-shattering torment echo around the cell as he writhes in pain.

"Heat, perhaps? Yes? Good." Turmoil gives another silent command and each bar glows red hot. "How's that, Deadlock? Doesn't that smell delightful!"

"AAAAAAAHHHHHAAAAARGHHHH!" Pain! White hot burning, horrible pain! Drift arches his back in agony, howling in misery. He can smell his circuits burning sickeningly from the inside and it churns his tanks. His spark fluxes frantic and wild in his chest. Does he really deserve this? He saved lives, he tried, right? Doesn't that count for something? Anything?

"Now, now that will never do. I need you alive and coherent," Turmoil mercifully turns off the heat. "I do like this new frame of yours, Deadlock," a lustful growl emits from his vocalizer, sending shivers up Drifts spinal struts, for he knows what's coming. Turmoil straddles him and begins to grope the struggling mech. He flicks out his glossa and laps at the energon leaking from Drifts shoulder.  
"You taste even sweeter than before, my dear Deadlock. Shall we have a look and see how that cold, wretched little spark of yours is doing?"

Drift shakes his helm violently and tries, Primus bless him does he try to back away. Turmoil rips off his chest plate and tosses it aside, gloating at the sight beneath him. Drifts helm is turned away, as if by not looking, it's not happening. His spark glows bright blue with flecks of brilliant white arcing and swirling around it as it gutters and erratically fluxes inside its chamber. A large hand snakes its way across the exposed chamber in an almost loving caress before violently digging its fingers into the soft mesh of the chamber. Drift shudders and howls as he is violated; his spark receding deeper into its chamber. Turmoil purrs and smashes his mouth against Drifts. Tears stream down Drifts face as rage, shame and brutal agony flare wildly in his EMF. With a snarl he, clamps his denta down on Turmoil's probing glossa. Big mistake. Turmoil's claws rip into his chamber, leaving him convulsing in agony.

"Ya want it rough, Deadlock? Gooooooood. So do I!" Turmoil growls as he tweaks a finial, hard, before ripping off Drifts panel. Another howl of agony from Drift. Oh how he could listen to listen to that all day. Turmoil shivers with lust. "Oh Deadlock how I have missed those cries of pain! Would you believe I haven't had a decent berth warmer since your traitorous whore aft left? No one quite compares to your beautiful bellows of agony. No one else can pull off such shame and humiliation while I drive into them," Turmoil softly, almost…lovingly strokes the side of Drifts face. He then grips the base of the broken mechs finial and pulls him close, whispering, "I am going to make you suffer, Deadlock. Make you bleed. I will break you piece, by piece. I know allllllllll about you. I know what you feared in the gutters of the Dead End. You WILL pay. Oh, Deadlock will you pay." Without any more foreplay, Turmoil releases his turgid, barbed, enormous spike and slams it deep into Drifts small valve.

Drifts optics go wide and white with agonizing, blinding pain as Turmoil pounds relentlessly into him. He can feel the lining tear; mesh walls shred and pieces fall out with every agonizing thrust. He can't help but sob brokenly as he is internally destroyed. Energon copiously pours from his destroyed valve. He shivers and convulses as he each upward thrust pushes his frame into and away from the poles pinning him to the floor. The swordsmechs is dimly aware at some point that Turmoil has activated the electrical charge on the poles, because he feels current blazing through him. It's too much. Primus, it's all far too much. His thoughts drift from Gasket to Wing to Perceptor and back to Wing as his frame is ravaged, trying to find some form of comfort. Ratchet will be pissed, Drift muses, followed by a laugh. Turmoil snarls and slams deep and HARD into his valve, which eviscerates his ceiling node. Oh would you just overload already…for the love of…"AHHHHHHH! URGH!"

Transfluid erupts from Turmoil's spike along with a howl from his vocalizer. He then pulls out as he continues to overload and coats Drifts face with his transfluid. "That's a good buymech…uhn…now lick it off!"

"…f-f-frag…y-you….." Drift croaks.

"No…frag YOU," With that Turmoil shoves his spike into Drifts mouth, snapping his jaw in the process to accommodate his girth. Turmoil roars with laughter, overloading again from Drifts agony.

Hate, pain, shame and rage smolder in Drifts optics as Turmoil pumps into his mouth. He tries to bite down, but has no force with his broken jaw. As Turmoil overloads, Drift purges and nearly chokes. The strain on his systems is far too much. The pain is immense and throbbing through his entire sensor net. The desolate swordsmech lolls his helm from side to side, completely incoherent, mumbling Perceptor and Wing pitifully, energon leaking and pooling all around him.

"Done already, Deadlock? Pity." With that Turmoil leaves his prey to spark, twitch and leak his way back to consciousness so that the cycle can be again. Just like it has for the past two months prior.

LOST LIGHT SHUTTLE  
PRESENT  
WING AND PERCEPTOR

Perceptor idly drums his fingers against the console as he watches the monitors following Drifts energy signature. The fact that it has steadily been fading is worrisome enough without the threat of that damned perfect and beautiful jet hovering about and oh dear does he have such a hard time hating him. In fact, it's quite the opposite. The more time they spend together, the more Perceptor can see Drifts attraction to him. Of course the fact that Wing loves Drift, truly, purely, madly, deeply, unconditionally, is yet one more reason. A heavy sigh leaves his vents.

"I am worried too, Perceptor," the white jet remarks, his hand a gentle presence over the dial on the snipers arm, which sends a tingle straight up Perceptor's spinal strut. "We will find him in time. Of that I have no doubt," Oh there it is…that gentle, serene, hopeful smile. Perceptor's own expression, a thin line compressed across his lips. Wing smiles again, this time he laughs a lilting, airy laugh. "You are just like him. That same dour expression of which conveys despair and no hope, practically screaming with negativity! It will be okay. He will hang on for us."

The scientist-turned-sniper casts a wary glance at his beautiful companion. "I hope you are right, but….Wing, this broke him…I-I know it did…he…may not WANT to hang on. He doesn't even know you are alive and I doubt he will hang on for-"

"For you? I think he will. You do not give yourself enough credit, Perceptor. I can see how much you love him. We have that in common,"

"I, uh, I have no idea what you are talking about, Wing," stammers Perceptor. "We are friends, nothing more than that I assure you," the disappointment is painfully obvious in his voice. "He loves you, though he may not speak much on the subject, I am most certain of it."

Wings perfect smile brightens and grows wider, his folded wings wiggling as he listens. "Oh Perceptor! It is very obvious how much you love him! I think it is wonderful! Our Drift needs love…he needs to be cared for. To see that he is worth it, which you and I both know he is." Another gracious smile, along with a blush, from the beautiful knight, "Certain of it? How so?" Wing cants his helm, optics glittering, shining like the sun.

"In spite of himself, Perceptor smiles a rare smile. "Oh Wing, our Drift for one will gaze lovingly and longingly at the crystal in the sword, tenderly stroking it, unaware that he is even doing it, every time he polishes the sword. Secondly, he speaks to the sword; again, unaware that he is doing it and that I am very much aware of it. Finally," he pauses, venting softly before finishing, "he talks in his sleep. And before you ask, no, we have never…interfaced, we merely roomed together on the Trion."

Wings golden optics sparkle and glow even brighter, his blush deepens as he listens to Perceptor. A few tears sliding down his perfect cheeks. "Oh Drift! My-er-our poor, poor Drift! Oh Perceptor!" Completely unexpected, Wing embraces the sniper and nuzzles into his neck.

"Oh! Oh my, Wing!" Perceptor blushes crimson, tentatively wrapping his arms around the smaller, yet still larger than Drift, mech. He soon finds himself nuzzling back, their cheeks tenderly brushing against each other, their EMF's caressing each other's and sharing their mutual love for Drift.

Wing shifts and leans his forehelm on Perceptor's, delicately rubbing his nose. "Perceptor, I like you, I daresay I will love you and I love Drift; with my entire spark, just like you. I have since the moment I set optics upon him. Just. Like. You. I am willing to share. He needs us both, Perceptor."

The scientist-turned-sniper rubs the jets nose in return; feeling just a little silly until Wing eloquently speaks. Now it is he who tears up, able only to croak out one word. The only word that at this moment matters. "Yes."

Without another word, Wing presses his lips against the trembling Perceptor, moaning softly when he kisses him back. The jet gracefully pulls the larger mech up, bodies pressing together, and wraps his arms around Perceptor's neck.

Perceptor freezes, tense, unsure of to respond at first, but the warmth of Wings frame and sweetness of his mouth are enough to quell his questioning of why Wing would find him attractive enough to kiss in the first place. He runs his hands down Wings sides and rests them on the jets slender hips, moaning softly as their glossa entwine.

The white jet whimpers into Perceptor's mouth when his hips are touched. It has been too long. Too long dreaming of Drift. Wanting him. Needing him. And now, Perceptor; as close to Drift as he can get, the scientist, not without his own charms. Wing groans again into the snipers delicious mouth, this time playfully pulling back just enough to suckle on his lower lip. Golden optics glitter as they peer into bright blue, seeking reassurance, permission. The handsome microscope growls his approval; his own desire and need matching that of Wings. The jet lets out a happy trill and gently pulls Perceptor backwards toward the small habitation suite. "I want you, Perceptor….please?"

"Wing….I…have not been with anyone in a very long time….and…I am..."

"Beautiful, Perceptor, absolutely beautiful." Wings smiles that ravishing smile, Perceptor positively melts, and both of them collapse onto the berth in a tangle of limbs. He dances his hands up Perceptor's back, teasingly fondling the tubing that wraps around the snipers waist and connects to his chest plate. A wanton moan escapes Perceptor's vocalizer as he devours Wings mouth. The jet smiles into the kiss and nibbles his way from those smooth lips to his jaw and then Perceptor's neck.

"Wing…" Perceptor breathlessly exclaims.

"Mmmm, yes lover?" Wing asks, arching up into him, gliding his frame against the snipers. He laughs airily and licks around Perceptor's scope mount and then up the shaft before the sniper can answer. That was all it took for Perceptor to cry out and retract his panel, his spike cover irising open and reveling his very large, very pressurized spike. "Oh yes, my love, mmm," Wing purrs as he mouths at Perceptor's lens. "I want you too…" with that Wings skirt plating shifts, his own panel opening along with his valve cover. A wash of lubricant drools out and over coaxing Perceptor's spike closer.

"Wing, I…oh my…" without another word, Perceptor leans down, optics dark with lust and locked with Wings, he slowly pushes into the velvet warmth of the white jet.

"Shhh love…" Wing purrs as he wraps his legs around Perceptor's waist, sheathing him deeper. The white jet nuzzles his cheek against him and whispers: "I love him too. This for Drift. Our Drift." Perceptor tenderly kisses Wing, making love with him, sharing their love for Drift.

TURMOIL'S SHIP  
THE BRIG  
PRESENT

Smell. Smell and hearing; always the first to come back from that horrible return to consciousness. The smell was Drift. His spent energon sticking to him, in a violet pool all around him, causing the swordsmechs to gag. The sound was not that much better; Turmoil's foot falls. Drift tries to move, which was a VERY bad idea. Pain, electric and white-hot rips through him with abandon. His howls of agony are spark breaking as they echo off the walls of his prison, before the wonderful blackness consumes him once again.

"Wakey wakey, my darling gutter rat," Drift snarls in response to Turmoils insults. "Oooooo, now, now, is that snarl any way to greet the mech who comes bearing gifts?" Turmoil coos pleasantly.

"Guh…get…fuh…fragged…" Drift's shaky reply is coated with static; his jaw only half healed from the very slow self-repair. His optics widen as he stares up at Turmoil hovering above him. His optics widen as he stares up at Turmoil hovering above him, dangling the circuit booster over his helm, half of him wanting, half of him terrified and repulsed. "N-NO! P-Please! PLEASE! I'm clean!"

"Ha ha ha ha! Poor, poor, Deadlock! You know what they say….once an addict, always an addict." Turmoil's roar of sinister laughter is sickening. "Come now, you know you want it," he teases, dangling the circuit booster in front of his face. "It'll help with the pain, Deadlock; don't you want the pain to stop? How is that used up valve of yours, anyway? Turmoil's feel his charge rapidly building at the feral look in Drifts optics. Oh how he wants it! And he'll get it! Turmoil slams his fist down on Drifts already eviscerated valve, ruthlessly and brutally shoving three of his thick fingers inside, shuddering with ecstasy at the delicious agonized scream torn form Drift. "Oh yes, Deadlock! Scream for your master! Scream!"

"Stuh…s-stuh…op…puh…p-please…" Drift painfully, brokenly stutters. Oh slagging sweet Primus it hurts! Please! Gasket! Wing! Help me….please….help…make it stop! Please, the despondent swordsmechs silently pleads. Tears stream down his face, too far gone to care about looking weak. He is weak. Weak and alone. Unwanted. Unloved. And no one to save him.

Turmoil swiftly pulls his fingers out, making sure to remove the mesh walls lining the inside of Drifts valve out with him. " Mmmm…much better, " Turmoil then smashes Drifts torn walls over his face with a pleased snort. "I'm thirsty Deadlock, I think I shall have a taste. Of you. Ah, you fear that don't you? The Syphoners. Happened a lot, didn't it? How lovely! I am curious, how does it work? Like this?" Turmoil rips off Drifts forearm tire and viciously yanks out an energon line along with several wires and cables. Another delectable scream.

"NO! NO! NO! PLEASE!" Drift thrashes his helm back and forth, mewling and begging for death. His struggles further excite Turmoil as he sucks on the free energon line, devouring Drifts living energon. The white and red mech purges his tanks and sobs till struggling, still fighting, his frame making disgusting, crunching and slurping sounds as it rails against the poles still pinning him to the floor.

"Very delicious, Deadlock. Oh so sweet! We will be doing this more, I can assure you! But for now…enjoy!" Turmoil jams the booster into Drifts brain, laughing joyfully. "You are very welcome!"

The last thing Drift hears before he slips in the abyss are his tortured, pitiful agonizing screams of terror, shame and helplessness.

LOST LIGHT SHUTTLE  
WING AND PERCEPTOR  
PRESENT

Perceptor slowly opens his optics into the peaceful quiet of the small habitation suite. The warm frame in his arms and the gentle hum of the engines a sirens call trying to lull him back to recharge. Wing shifts and stretches as he drowsily surfaces from his own blissful recharge. The jet lazily trails his fingers over Perceptor's chest plate and smiles up at him.

"Hello, handsome. Recharge well?"

Perceptor smiles down at the beautiful knight and kisses his forehelm. "I most assuredly did. That was…wonderful. Truly, it was… thank you, Wing."

The white jet chuckles softly, "There is no need to thank me, Perceptor. I enjoyed myself as well. I feel…connected…somehow to Drift through you. And you, well….you have VERY knowledgeable hands." Wing playfully teases and purrs.

"Do I?" The sniper laughs a pleased laugh and relaxes, pulling Wing closer and resting his chin on the jets helm. "Tell me about Drift…please?"

"You do," Wing nuzzles under the snipers chin. "Drift…let's see…he was angry. He had a scowl permanently etched on his face," the jet smiles fondly and continues, his smile fading the more he reflects, "He was… wild; feral, even. He hated himself and everything…everyone. He did not see his own worth. Drift thought he did not deserve to be happy. He felt he did not deserve what Crystal City had to offer. He struggled with self-control; trying so hard to behave and listen to me. Drift was an enigma. He never once hurt me. Never took without asking. He thought it was wrong to enjoy things…even something as simple as a candy. He was so _afraid; _afraid to be who he truly was; afraid to let go; afraid of almost anything beautiful…as if he would shatter it just by looking. What kind of monster would create that in another? He was a tortured soul. His past was horrible, Perceptor. It broke my spark to hear of it. I cannot imagine what it was like to be left behind, broken and forgotten; rotting in the gutters of Cybertron…the things he had to do to survive…oh Perceptor. He was beaten into submission and a false, corrupted way of thinking. Yet, through it all, his spark was in the right place. He carried himself with honor and dignity. He was gentle. Even in the berth. I saw into his spark. Drift is beautiful, a rare gift to this world; one to be treasured, loved, and protected; one to be cherished and held dear to one's spark."

Perceptor cannot help the tears that build and drip from his optics. His EMF brushes against Wings in combined misery for their Drift. Perceptor softly brushes away a few of Wings tears and tilts the jets chin so that they are both gazing sadly into one another's dim optics. Several moments pass as they each say all they need to between their optics. The sniper opens his mouth trying to form words that die in his vocalizer; Wing places a finger over Perceptor's lips, hushing him.

"I know." The jet whispers and pulls the scientist-turned-sniper into a tight embrace.

TURMOIL'S SHIP  
THE BRIG  
PRESENT

Drift groans weakly and slowly opens his optics. For a brief moment, the swordsmech thinks he's back in the gutters; processor still fuzzy from the boosters; frame feeling like slag, valve burning and hurting _badly;_ all too familiar feelings. He shivers as reality sets in. Drift has never, ever wished he was back in the gutters until now. He could hide there; try and heal knowing that he could escape, that this would end. But here, here there is no end. No help. No one to save him. No Gasket to run back to. The red and white mech lolls his helm over to the side and stares forlornly at his arm: barbed poles jutting out from the joints, sparks jumping out occasionally and the, oh frag is that all HIS energon, rather large pool of energon all around him. He snorts. Huh…it's bad…he should care. He really, REALLY should, a heavy, shaky vent and yeah, great, really should care…but he doesn't. He'll be dead soon and it'll all be over. There's not much more Turmoil can to do to him anyway, right? If only…oh if only, he muses. But that's not good, right? The what ifs? Who cares…what if he stayed with Wing? What if Wing hadn't have died? What if he told Perceptor how he felt? He should have. Right from day one, he should have. Percy wouldn't betray him. He wouldn't have let him go by himself. But then, his sniper would be in this position too and that would be unacceptable. Just one more poor fool Drift would have led to the slaughter. What if Gasket hadn't have died? Oh Gasket….tears fall from his optics as he softly sobs.

"Crying already, Deadlock? But we haven't even started yet!" Turmoil snickers. "You are so very pathetic, so utterly pathetic," the giant mech proudly struts around his work as if contemplating a piece of art. "Hmmm….I'm not fond of the red," In one fell swoop, Turmoil rips off both of Drifts red spaulders simultaneously. Drift howls in utter agony, his optics white, wild and wide with new found pain. He screams again as he arches his back in agony, which drives him up the poles. Turmoil laughter drowns out the swordsmechs pitiful bellows. "Much better; shall I go for the ones gracing your luscious thighs now?"

"F-Fr…ag…y-you!" Drift sobs brokenly.

"Such a nasty little brat, "With that, Turmoil yanks off the red thigh armor on Drifts right thigh first eliciting another beautiful howl of pure, unbridled torment. A low, guttural moan of lust escapes the black mechs vocalizer. "Oh Deadlock…mmm mmm…" Turmoil shudders with desire, "I may take you yet again." Before he even finishes his sentence, Turmoil yanks off the left one.

Drift bows his back again, in blinding agony. He sobs in anguish; broken and bleeding. Oh does he hurt. So very badly. The swordsmech convulses and shakes; his intakes wheeze and gurgle; his vents rattle and sputter; energon froths at the edges of his mouth and trickles steadily out of his vents, nose and every joint. The poor, decimated, and banished grounder finally, mercifully slips unconscious.

Turmoil is no fool and he knows Primus damn well if he continues now, his pet will surely die; thus ending his fun. "Slaggit all, Deadlock! You are so WEAK! PATHETIC! ARGH!" Turmoil gives the command for the poles to extend and lock into the ceiling, effectively trapping Drift further and exits. He looks back, seething with barely contained rage, "In a few cycles, Deadlock….just you wait," before he retreats to his quarters to burn off his charge.

THE LOST LIGHT  
RODIMUS' OFFICE  
PRESENT

Blanketed in darkness, deep within his own mind, Rodimus sits at his desk, carving nothing in particular into it. The solace he seeks is currently being interrupted by a loud banging on his door, which he no longer has the luxury of ignoring, since it has long since stolen him from his wallowing.

"Come in already! Jeez! Can't a captain get any peace and quiet!?"

"On board this ship, I think not," Rungs quaint attempt at humor falling flat, on the usually good humored Captain. He smiles regardless and takes a seat, gently sliding a data pad across the desk to Rodimus.

"What's this?" Rodimus looks up from the data pad to meet Rungs gaze.

"A petition." Rung holds the captains gaze as he answers.

"A petition?" Rodimus, parrots questioningly, arching an optic ridge. "For…?"

Rung gestures for Rodimus to read said petition with an upturned palm.

"Okaaaaay….'We the undersigned….blah blah blah….Drift…back'?! What?! Really?! Are you kidding me? This is…" Rodimus scrolls through the data pad as he checks over the names. "…almost three-quarters of the crew!"

Rung straightens in his seat and smoothly folds his hands over his crossed legs. "Yes, well, morale _has_ been low since you exiled him. Before you ask, it was Swerve who started it. He approached me with the idea and I gave him my support. I happen to think an inquiry should be made into the events surrounding Overlord and I too feel that Drift should not have been banished. He was your friend, Rodimus and I feel-"

Rodimus curtly interrupts, "First off its CAPTAIN and who my friends WERE are none of YOUR business AND his banishment is not up for discussion! It's bad enough that strange jet and my best scientist went after him! And now all of you want us to take MY ship to search for a TRAITOR! Get out, Rung! OUT!"

Rung sighs heavily and graciously stands up. He heads to the door pausing, one hand on the frame, and looks back at Rodimus. "I can see that you are hurt, Captain and I am very much aware that the decision to exile Drift was very difficult. Do not let your hurt and anger cloud your judgment. You have many whom care very much about you. Don't forget that." With a kind smile, Rung leaves, shutting the door behind him.

Once Rung leaves, Rodimus slams his fist very hard into his desk, leaving a huge dent. "URGH!"

ooOOOOoo

LOST LIGHT  
RODIMUS' OFFICE

A FEW HOURS LATER

Rodimus has his arms stretched out and folded over top his desk. His chin rests on his crossed wrists, mulling over the petition and Rungs words when there is another knock at his door. Why can't they just ring the chime? Oh…cos he broke it…with a heavy sigh he yells at whoever it is to enter.

"Well you are the very last mech I expected to see…" the captain sits up a tiny smile blooming across his face at his unexpected guest.

Bob bounces in chirping happily. He bounds over to Rodimus and puts his little front claws up on his legs, wiggling his aft. "Well hello there, Bob!" Rodimus scratches between the insecticons antennas and leans back. "What's up, Sunny?"

"I really wish you wouldn't call me that, _Roddy,_" The reprimand is only half-sparked as Sunstreaker smiles that beautiful smile of his. "I think you know what's up. Look, it's not my place to butt in, BUT," Sunstreaker walks around Rodimus' desk so that he is in front of the captain, and leans his aft on the desk. The gorgeous yellow mech lovingly strokes Rodimus' cheek with a finger as he continues to speak. "But when you don't come and recharge with me, among other things, I worry. You've been this way ever since you banished Drift." Bob, no longer getting any more yummy pets, gets down and curls up at his master's pedes, with a pouty little chuff.

"You too, huh? Oh and I saw your signature on the petition, too." The red mech pouts and crosses his arms across his chest.

"Roddy…it's not like that…and you know it." Sunstreaker moves from leaning on the desk to straddling his lover and wrapping his arms around his neck. He leans his forehelm on Rodimus' and cups the former Primes face, black thumbs gently caressing the smooth planes of his face. "Roddy, what I did was so much worse than Drift…you of all people know that. Everyone turned on Drift so quickly…I know what that's like. You didn't exile me…you let me on board.."

"That is so way way WAY different, Sunny…" Rodimus wraps his arms around Sunstreaker and rubs his back, the beautiful yellow Lambo just what he needed.

"You are right…it was WORSE. I know you feel betrayed…but imagine how Drift feels. He wasn't even given a chance…ya kinda just, well, cast him out. You ripped off his Autobrand, love. I still have mine and well, I don't know…it just don't seem right." Sunstreaker tips Rodimus' chin up and loving kisses his lovers pout away. After a few moments, Sunstreaker pulls away. He smiles and kisses the captains forehelm, gently getting off his lap. "All I'm saying is think about it. Please. For me. C'mon , Bob…let's go" With that Sunstreaker walks to the door, stopping as Rodimus calls out for him. "Yes, love?"

"I'll be home tonight, kay?" Rodimus smiles softly.

Sunstreaker smiles a very rare smile. "I'm counting on it, Cap". Sunstreaker leaves with Bob trailing after him like the end of a comet.

"Well frag and fragging frag frag frag frag…..Really need ya Magnus….really need ya…" Rodimus speaks into the empty office.

LOST LIGHT  
OBSERVATION DECK  
PRESENT

Dai Atlas rests his helm against his long time spark mate and friend, Axe. They sit together on the bench in the observation deck veiled in the darkness. Dai Atlas gives a long vent and pulls Axe closer.

"I know, Dai. Our Little One and Winglet will be alright though. I promise you," Axe's voice is a hushed whisper as he nuzzles his mate. "I too am worried. Very much so, in fact, but we cannot lose hope."

"You are right, my love. I just…I fear for Drift; our Little One, I do like the sound of that," Dai smiles softly, returning the nuzzle. "He is little indeed, despite the rather large size of his scowl. Oh, Axe! If only I had warmed to him faster, like you. Even after our Winglets 'death', I didn't trust him enough to tell him that Redline could and did fix Wing…maybe if I had he would have stayed…Drift certainly would have seen through Star Sabers betrayal. He could have been happy with our Winglet. The two of them would have finally been able to explore their feelings for one another, aside from just 'facing. Wing saved him and I failed him. If he doesn't make it…I…" Dai's intakes hitch and choke off, tears forming in his ruby optics.

The purple and black triple-changer pulls his beloved into his arms and rubs his back. "Oh, Dai, no…please don't do this to yourself. Nothing good has _ever_ come from playing 'what if'… you know that. Drift very well may have seen through Star Sabers betrayal, but in the end? Who knows? I regret not telling Drift about Wing as well, but what is done is done…"

The leader of The Circle of Light nuzzles into Axe before pulling away and holding his shoulders as he speaks. "It's not good enough, Axe…did you hear how desperately Drift misses Wing? I have spoken to many on board this ship…it is spark wrenching…spark wrenching! Our Little One blames himself for Wings 'death'! Oh Axe! What's worse is learning of his past…if he comes back to us, I will appoint myself his guardian! Our Winglet was right about him from the beginning. How could I have been so blind?"

"Dai…my beloved…" Axe pulls him into another embrace and coos softly; gently rubbing his back. "You listen to me, Dai Atlas, and you listen well. Winglet and Perceptor _will_ bring him back-_alive_. We cannot change his past, but we can help him to heal and make his future bright. Drift will be our charge, along with Wing and we will protect them as they rediscover one another and create a foundation from which to build upon. I also have a feeling that that handsome scientist will be a part of Drift and Wing as well; for our Little One needs and _deserves _all the love in the world."

Dai Atlas leans into Axe and smiles lovingly up at his spark mate. "That he does, love, that he does." The two continue to sit in comfortable silence gazing out into the plague of stars. After a time, their quiet reflection is whisked away by the sound of the deck doors opening in a soft swoosh. A tall, slender mech bounded in, the spoilers on his back casting a light shadow in the poor lit observation deck.

Rodimus had had too many distractions in his office. First it was Rung with that damned petition and his speech on morale. Then Fort Max with his daily reports and finally, the yellow mech with his perfect finish and his giddy insecticon. Of course the last barrage, more of a delight and an optic opener, than anything else.

Now Rodimus stood in the empty and dark observation deck, empty as far as he could tell. His shoulders slumped and he noted how the darkened room reminded him about how he felt; so alone and dark inside. As he looked out the viewport, the distant stars emphasized his emotions, each star beckoning like little beacons of hope, just out of his grasps. He felt a movement behind him, could sense someone behind him. This feeling startled him, as he didn't hear the door open at all.

"I see you came here for answers as well." Rodimus recognized the voice instantly. The deep tone was that of Dai Atlas.

"I didn't realize you were here." Roddy shot a glance over his shoulder to the leader of the famed Knights of Cybertron.

Dai Atlas thought for a moment and then placed his arms behind his back. "I did not trust Drift, when I first met him..."

"What he did was inexcusable. He jeopardized everyone's lives." Roddy shook his helm.

"Your ship is still in one piece; your crew is still functional. Nothing the young warrior did hurt much," Dai thought his next words carefully, "Except to wound your pride. But that is not the fault of Drift..."

The anger rose fast in Roddy and he tried his hardest to not spin around to punch Dai Atlas.

"I humiliated him and was untrustful until it was nearly too late. Do not make the same mistake." Dai Atlas turned away from the captain.

Axe stood up quietly and as Dai approached, he followed his leader and spark mate out the door.

Now Rodimus stood quiet and alone. "Magnus, you sure picked a hell of a time to leave us. We need you more than ever... I need you..." Roddy's voice a mere whisper into the darkness.

TURMOILS SHIP  
BRIG  
PRESENT

A soft scraping sound lures Drift from the comforting darkness enveloping him. His optics open and flicker, glowing like pale little twin moons. The swordsmech draws in a sharp intake, hissing in pain. A series of agonizing tremors devastate his frame as he desperately tries to locate the sound.

"So very nice of you to join me, Deadlock. Been a long time," That voice…he knows that voice. Drift tries to focus on it; to make sense of it…to place it. Oh no…

Drift must have made a face to mirror his thoughts, because he hears a satisfied chortle. "Oh yes, it's me…your old friend Lockdown, come to visit," The bounty hunter stops sharpening his claw and walks around Drift slowly, savoring every inch of his decimated frame. To add to the white mechs misery he gives each bar a yank as he walks around. By the time he has finished his stroll, Drift is a heaving, shaking, and leaking puddle of tormented mech. "Awe, such misery…poor Deadlock..." he mocks.

"I-It's…D-Driffffft…" Every word is agony. Drift shivers and glares up at Lockdown. "W-What…uhn…urgh…w-want…?"

"Why I want to take part in your misery, Deadlock," An acidic smile curls on the bounty hunters lips. "I'm curious to know, Deadlock, how I measure up to that pretty white jet of yours." A vicious sneer that ignites all of Drifts rage snakes it way on Lockdowns face.

"IT'S D-DRIFT! And W-Wing is of no concern…," Drifts voice turns to static as another violent tremor racks his frame, speaking taking too much out of him "…t-to you…"

Lockdown ignores Drift, pleased that he is getting the reaction he wants and taunts him further. "Oh but it IS, Deadlock. See, a pretty mech like that, well, he doesn't know how Decepticons like it, does he? Did he take your valve, Deadlock? I mean, a pretty buymech and submissive little rat like you….whore, like you, I bet your Knight had all kinds a fun! Was it fun, to have an aristocrat want you? But he didn't, did he, Deadlock? No one wants you. Except like this," Lockdown spreads his arms out indicating Drifts spread eagle position on the poles, from where he stands between Drifts horrifically spread legs, "flat on your back and spread wide open. Oh look! Your valve, well, what's left of it, is already wet…no, wait, that's energon…but it'll do!" The bounty hunter stands in front of Drift and retracts his panel, his fully pressurized spike jutting out. Lockdown begins to stroke his spike, already immensely aroused from his taunting of Drift. "Dirty little buymech…dirty little Syk helm….uhn….so dirty…I'm going take my time with you, just like I wanted to all those years ago…and there ain't a fragging thing you or anyone can do about it."

Drift lies there in unbelievable agony watching Lockdown, choking down his fear of being raped again. He tries not to show Lockdown how much the hunter's words bother him, but Drift feels the hot, shameful, traitorous tears slide down his cheeks anyway. His time with Wing was sacred. Hearing it desecrated from Lockdowns vile mouth is enough to break him. He never got the chance to explore anything more with Wing…never got the chance to tell the white jet how much he loves him. Drift knows he can't take much more and hears a sob break from his vocalizer as he stares up at Lockdown, trying to steel himself for one more round. Maybe Primus will be merciful and kill him this time. Then he can finally be with Wing and free of pain. Free of torment and anguish. No longer will Drift have to fight. He can finally, _finally_ be at peace.

LOST LIGHT SHUTTLE  
WING AND PERCEPTOR  
PRESENT

"Wing! We found him," exclaims Perceptor, as he stands up and smiles at his companion. "It won't be long now!"

Wing jumps up from his chair, sheathing his new and freshly sharpened Great Sword behind his back. He clasps Perceptor on his shoulders and smiles. "Thank Primus! Thank YOU, Perceptor," the knights' spark clenches tight; afraid of what they will find when they finally get to his beloved Drift. Wings golden optics glide to the window and the large battle cruiser off in the distance before settling once again on Perceptor. "But how will we get to him without being detected, my friend?" Wing slides his optics back over to the window and watches a shuttle on its return to Turmoil's ship.

A sly grin forms on the snipers face before he turns back to the console, rapidly inputting data. "Simple, I will reverse the polarity of our deflector shield which will hide our energy signature, which in turn will then allow us to cruise in that returning shuttles," Perceptor tips his chin in the direction of the returning shuttle, "energy wake allowing us to dock…and from there…" the sniper turns and gazes up at the white jet, a firm, determined expression on his face, "…from there we go get our Drift." Perceptor gives a tiny, sad smile acknowledging the short nod from Wing and turns back to the console, while the jet paces back and forth, far too worked up to sit.

TURMOILS SHIP  
THE BRIG  
PRESENT

"Awe, Deadlock, tears? You really have gone soft-sparked! And to think I haven't even touched you…yet," Lockdown digs his claw into Drifts' side and drags it across to the small hole in the swordsmech stomach from where Turmoil had, weeks ago, stabbed him. Once the hunter has a hold of Drift he yanks up painfully slowly, sliding Drifts brutalized frame up the poles until he is level with Lockdowns waist.

LOST LIGHT SHUTTLE  
DOCKED WITH TURMOILS SHIP  
WING AND PERCEPTOR

"Wing, you can stop the frantic pacing now; we are docked." Perceptor loads his hand guns and checks his sniper rifle. "Should anything happen…t-to me, you have my blessing to be with Drift. I know you will take care of him, Wing. Tell him I love him."

The white knight checks that his swords are clear in their scabbards before cupping Perceptor's face with his hands. Wing smiles softly, albeit a little sad. "The same can be said for me, Perceptor, but that will not happen. Drift will be alright and we will bring him home. Have faith." With that Wing embraces the larger mech, pressing a soft, loving kiss to his lips. "Let's go."

TURMOILS SHIP  
THE BRIG

"It's…D-Dri….ffffft….ARGH! URGH! …fr-fraaaAAAAHHH," Drift _screams_ in agonizing torment as his frame is moved up the poles. He shakes and sobs, unable to control himself. The sound he makes as he his frame is horribly sluiced up the poles is tank churning and grotesque. Warnings frantically pop in his HUD before the white mechs visual feed goes bright white, and then fades to black. He distantly feels Lockdown slam into his broken valve, the force of which drags a raw, broken cry from his vocalizer. Drifts helm hangs backward, his fingers twitching, clawing at nothing as they try to form fists. He knows he cannot take much more; he wants to give up. The pain…it's too much…too much…he hears himself howl in miserable torment and agony. Primus he sounds so pathetic and broken. Just kill me, please, he silently pleads. Let it all be over. No one wants him anyway. Let it be done already.

LOST LIGHT SHUTTLE AIRLOCK  
LOWER LEVELTURMOIL'S SHIP  
WING AND PERCEPTOR

The two mechs exit the shuttle, prepared for battle, stepping out into the darkness of the shuttle bay, solely lit by a flickering red designation sign. Two lone sentries patrol the shuttle bay, which Perceptor quickly and silently dispatches. Knight and sniper stealthy make their way through the corridors. As they round a corner, approaching a lift to the brig, Perceptor spots three more sentries.

The sniper uses his monocle, targeting the one in the middle and comms Wing. ::I'll take the one in the center, you dispatch the remaining two.::

Wing smirks, ::With pleasure. Ready?:: and prepares to charge the sentries.

Perceptor gives a nod and stabilizes his rifle. At the nod Wing is off, blades in hand, arms level at sides. Before the guards become aware of the white blur headed their way, Perceptor drops the one in the center as Wing spins and slices open each of the two's throats before stabbing them in the spark to assure the job is done.

The sniper swings his rifle around attaching it to his back, standing up all in one fluid motion as Wing stands and turns to face him. Knight and sniper nod and turn, stepping into the lift, the doors swooshing shut before the lift descends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
THE BRIG

Lockdown laughs loud and long, proud at what he's doing; what he's drawn from Drift. "Is this how Wing did it, Drift? Huh? Is it?" The hunter mercilessly pounds into Drift, shoving his frame backing and forth on the poles, coming Primus damned close to severing the swordsmechs' limbs. "Is that how that pretty, pathetic knight did it? Just. Like. This." Lockdown emphasizes every word with a hard thrust. "Is it!? ANSWER ME YOU PATHETIC WHORE!"

Drift sobs uncontrollably in terrible agony, begging for it to stop, his pitiful, agonized cries tearing the very fabric of the air to pieces.

THE BRIG  
JUST OUTSIDE DRIFTS CELL

The lift doors hiss open and Drifts tormented screams and cries echo off the walls, slicing through both Perceptor's and Wing's spark. The two turn to each other and rush out of the lift prepared for a battle, only to find the area empty, exchanging a confused look and shrug with one another.

Wing frantically tries to pry open the door to get to Drift. "We NEED to get in there, Perceptor! Now! He's hurt!"

Perceptor immediately sets to attempting to override the door locks. "I am well aware of that, Wing. I am trying as hard as I can! Do you not think it wounds my spark as well to hear him?" The red mechs vocalizer shorts out as he speaks, his worry for Drift heavy in his EMF.

The jet growls and sheaths his short swords, "Ugh! We don't have time for this! That's it!" In one graceful, deadly move Wing draws his Great Sword and stabs the lock. The doors open revealing the horrid sight before both their optics. Perceptor can only watch in horror as everything evolves in slow motion.

Lockdown slams mercilessly into Drift, whose back is arched, helm hanging, finials dipped toward the floor, energon leaking out from every part of his frame, terrible sobs breaking from his vocalizer, impaled on poles, halfway off the ground. "WHORE, I asked you a question! Is this how Wing did it?!"

Rage surges through the white knight, his golden optics darkening and armor clamping down tight as he stealthily approaches Lockdown from behind. "No. That's not how I 'did it'," Wing snarls as he slams his Great Sword through Lockdowns chest. Lockdown releases his hold on Drift, optics going wide with disbelief as he feels his spark gutter out and burst, the Great Sword jutting through his chest. Wing yanks the Great Sword out of Lockdown and then carefully pries the hunter out of Drift, tossing him aside. Unfortunately for Drift, this causes the swordsmech to slide down the poles, hitting the ground hard. The white grounder gasps and hisses in pain.

"Drift! Oh Drift! I-I'm sorry!" Wing gasps in horror as he realizes what he inadvertently did when he removed Lockdown from Drift.

"W-Wing," Drift barely manages to croak out in disbelief. "I…urgh…f-finally..uhn…d-dead…urgh…." Drifts vocalizer hisses in static as he tries to speak, his frame sagging in agonizing relief.

"Shhhh, beloved, you are not dead…we are here to save you…Perceptor and I," The white jet softly strokes Drifts face. "It will be alright, my love. I promise," Wing coos as he purposely avoids looking at Drifts mangled frame.

Perceptor stands and watches the exchange between the two, his spark breaking as he processes Drifts condition. "Primus…Drift…" The sniper finally snaps to attention and rushes over.

Drift lolls his helm over to Perceptor as he hears the snipers voice. "…Ceptor…uhn…n-need…t-t-tell…y-you….urgh…" Drift arches his back in agony and cries out.

"Oh Drift…there will be time enough for that later…I-I need to get you out of this…time is short…" Perceptor softly strokes Drifts energon and tear stained cheek as he looks around at the poles protruding from Drifts joints that run to the ceiling.

"Y-You cuh-can't…T-T-Tuh-Turmoil…." Drift shivers violently as he tries to speak, "…cuh-c-controls it…g-guh-go…p-puh-please…buh…buh-both of you," tears streaming from his optics, "a-already d-duh-dead….g-guh go…."

"Never, love…I will _never_ leave you again!" Wing vehemently promises. "You are coming with us."

"I…I am afraid that I will have to saw through the poles so that we can take you off of them." Perceptor's voice is apologetic, for he knows full well how much this will hurt Drift.

"N-uh-no…P-Please…n-no…" Drift starts to panic, "cuh-c-can't t-take…urgh…uhn…"

Tears slide down Wings face as he listens to Drifts spark breaking pleas. "He has to, my love. It will be alright. Here, bite down on this," Wing unsubs a cloth and places it in Drifts mouth. The jet cradles Drifts helm in his lap and loving strokes his forehelm and finials. Wing looks to Perceptor and nods as Drift leans into the loving rubs from Wing and bites down on the cloth.

Perceptor vents heavily and pulls out his saw.


End file.
